


Imagine Loki . . .

by Tomstinkerbell



Category: Loki Fandom, Loki laufeyson - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor movies
Genre: Angst, Chubby Chick, Comfort, F/M, Feels, Jealous Loki, Little bit of Dominant Loki, Low Self-Esteem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:52:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomstinkerbell/pseuds/Tomstinkerbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An overweight young woman is quite sure of herself within the realm of her chosen profession, but doesn't feel at all attractive.  Her boss, who happens to be Tony Stark, requires that she transform herself for an event from the schlub she thinks of herself as into Cinderella for an evening.</p><p>And, with Pepper's help, that is accomplished, causing our heroine to unwittingly attract the attention of the one man she's interested in - but has never let on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine Loki . . .

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:
> 
> This is very safe for work.
> 
> It's kind of a modern fairy tale, sorta, with Loki playing against type as Prince Charming.

Imagine you work - and live - in Avenger Tower, for Tony Stark himself, as a consultant, sort of, on all kinds of projects - most of them technically oriented. Tony is a great friend and an incredible cheerleader for you and your career, which he's certainly helping merely by employing you. 

You are self-confident, poised and well-spoken about those areas in which you have expertise. Beyond that, you're naturally friendly and gregarious with all of the Avengers, and spend most of your time trying to make them laugh as much as possible, usually with self-deprecating jokes, but occasionally poking gentle fun at everyone - but always very light-heartedly and never nastily. 

Everyone seems to like you - and they have nothing but respect for your professionalism and work ethic - and you like them, too - a lot.

In fact, you like one of them in particular, although you've been very careful, and you don't think that anyone suspects the depths of your feelings for him.

Since you work in the Towers and report directly to Tony, you don't have to see anyone but him and the team - heck, you barely ever even need to leave the building - so you don't bother to dress up - at all. Your usual always neat, always clean, uniform is jeans, a t-shirt (sometimes with a funny meme or slogan on it, taking a stance about something about which you feel strongly), a hoodie if it's cool, and sneakers. No jewelry, no makeup, no perfume. It never varies - and indeed hasn't much in your life - because you avoid parties and social obligations like the plague, only attending the ones that don't require you to dress. Everyone knows that the only outfit you own that differs from the type you wear every day is your "funeral outfit" - black dress pants, a non-descript blouse and black flats.

You know you're smart and that you do good work. But you're a bald realist about your looks, and you kind of have bought in to what your mother used to tell you - no one wants a fat girl. You know that, even if you try, you won't even really get to pretty, and you stopped trying to do so long ago - no matter what Pepper tells you about your amazing eyes, flawless skin, and beautiful, naturally curly hair.

For his good works, the city decides it wants to honor Tony and his team with a gala in their honor - and he agrees, but only if he can use it as an opportunity to recognize the members of his team and award - and reward - them, as opposed to having the attention focused on him. They agree. 

As much as you rant and threaten and nearly break down in tears in front of him, Tony won't allow you to skip this event, especially since he's made sure that you will be the recipient of the highest award he bestows that night.

Instead, he blithely hands you a credit card and tells you to go buy whatever you want/need, on him.

Then, just as quickly, before you can even reach for it, he snatches it back, and you figure he's seen reason and is going to let you duck out of this obligation, and you give a huge sigh of relief.

But you're wrong, you discover to your dismay, seconds later, when, instead, he calls Pepper in and hands the card to her, giving you a distrustful look - as if he suspects that you'd either not come back with anything because you spent the day sitting in Starbucks playing on your phone rather than shopping, or, worse, you'd to come back with even more t-shirts and jeans - telling her that it's her job to find you something that would be suitable for you to wear to the gala, and to spare no expense.

You groan in aggravation. You detest shopping. It's an exercise in humiliation, as far as your concerned, but Pepper is practically rubbing her hands together in glee, because she adores shopping and sees this as a chance to do everything for you that she's wanted to do all along. All you can think of is that, if you were a size negative 3, like she is, you could just borrow something from her. But you know that you wouldn't be able to fit your big toe into anything that fits her.

Pepper takes her assignment very seriously, and drags you out shopping with her, while you piss and moan loudly the entire time, except when you go to lunch at your favorite spot. Food is ALWAYS comforting, even in these dire straights. And she doesn't let you off easily, either. She makes you try shit on, which is just cruel and unusual punishment, you complain, but she refuses to relent.

************

The night of the gala, which the entire team will attend, she helps you dress in total secrecy. Tony - on the spur of the moment - lied and told everyone else that he gave you permission to stay home because he wants to surprise them with your new look. They think they're waiting for Pepper to be ready.

So when everyone has gathered at his place to go to this shindig together, Pepper comes out of their room and says something, innocently, like, "Aren't we missing someone?"

They all look at each other, saying "no", but then she turns around to look back at the door she's just come out of - as everyone else does at the same time - and you appear before them, taking a few faltering steps then stopping - freezing in place - because everyone's eyes are on you, which makes you even more horribly nervous than you already are.

Not only did Pepper manage find you an amazing dress that looks wonderful on you, but she had a stylist come in this evening and do your makeup for you, and another person to do your hair in a soft, artfully romantic arrangement that puts some of it up but leaves lots of it down, with baby curl tendrils framing your face. You're even wearing contacts that accentuate the green in your eyes, as well as a light, pretty perfume that has been created just for you.

The dress is floor length, in shades of green, with some lace and crystals in the almost corseted but not quite bodice - which shows your breasts off to their best advantage - that are reflected in the flowing skirt, your newly painted toenails peep out of your high, strappy sandals, and are occasionally seen from beneath the hem.

The team is dumbstruck.. All of them - even Natasha - are just standing there like idiots; they're so surprised at the transformation and how stunning you look all dolled up.

All of them except one, who steps forward - from the back of the pack - past his bulkier, muscle-bound brother and Captain America, cautiously skirting around Dr. Banner and insinuating himself between Hawkeye and Natasha - looking devastatingly elegant himself in his incredible Armani suit - to bow low in front of you, although he - like them - is barely able to tear his eyes away from you.

When he straightens, Loki takes your hand and kisses the back of it - his lips softly brushing your skin before he catches your eye again. "May I say you look ravishing this evening, my dear?"

You can't believe he's behaving this way towards you - you must be dreaming. Your throat is dry and your pulse is thundering in your ears. You don't think you could answer him intelligibly if your life depended on it.

But he doesn't seem in the least concerned by your lack of response. Moving to stand next to you, he offers you his elbow. "Would you do me the honor of allowing me to be your escort this evening?"

He doesn't really give you the chance to say yes or no, but rather reaches down to capture your much smaller hand in his, placing it in the crook of his elbow and patting it gently when you look panic-stricken, almost, and - worse - as if you're about to cry. 

Then he bends the long way down to whisper in your ear, so that no one can hear him but you, "You have only to say the word, little one, and I will whisk you away from here, no questions asked. You look as if you want to lift those pretty skirts and run away, and I don't want you to worry that you need do that. I would bet that Mr. Stark -" He persists in calling Tony that because of the continued animosity between the two of them " - has somehow coerced you into this unnecessary - if tantalizing - metamorphosis, but never fear. All you have to do - if you wish to leave at any time this evening, even right this minute - is to say the word and I will take you away." 

Loki tilted his head back a bit so he could look into your eyes. "Do you trust that I mean what I say? That I will not allow anyone to make you feel uncomfortable - even the illustrious Mr. Stark?" He raises his voice just enough that he knew Tony could hear that remark, and Tony's derisive snort was his confirmation. 

Making an on the spot decision, based on just how panicked you look, Loki turns back to the rest of them, his hand lying comfortingly over yours where it lay on his arm, and says smoothly, "I am sure you will all excuse us. We will meet you at the venue shortly."

You're still nodding your head in response to the question he asked, and, in the blink of an eye, you are on the observation deck Tony has built at the top of the building. You know because you go there some times to gather your thoughts when you're stuck on a problem.

You tug at your hand, and Loki releases it - and you - immediately, and you know you should be glad about that, but you're not exactly sure you are. But you do take several steps away from him, not quite believing where you are or what was happening.

He watches you carefully, making you want to fidget under his intense gaze. "I thought you might like some time to gather yourself before we go down to the hall. I noticed you were shaking, and thought you might be feeling a bit overwhelmed."

"Ye, thank you," you say breathlessly, knowing he thinks that it's the unusual, stressful circumstances of the evening, but you know that it's his actions towards you - to say nothing of his proximity to you - that's making you tremble.

Suddenly, your arms break out in gooseflesh at the very idea of being up here. Alone. With him.

And he, of course, does the very thing that's guaranteed to make things worse, even though he's trying to make them better - he moves closer to you and gathers you into his arms.

You can't keep the shaking from getting much worse, so that you're practically vibrating - and having a heart attack at the same time - and you try to struggle away from him, but this time he won't let you go.

Loki frowns down at you, looking concerned. "Are you cold?" Again, before you can answer, he slips out of his jacket, drapes it over your shoulders, then pulls you to him again. 

It's steaming hot - how did a Jotun manage to keep himself so hot? you wonder, mentally acknowledging the double entendre, despite how distracted you are by him.

As lovely as his coat feels around you - to say nothing of his strong arms about you - you look up at him while you stand there still shivering fit to shake you apart. "Thank you, Loki, but I'm not cold." You meant to place the emphasis on the "not" instead of the "cold", but it didn't come out that way, and you look down quickly, biting your lip, hoping he wouldn't read anything into it.

But it couldn't be that easy.

Instead, he interprets it exactly how you don't want him to, and lifts your chin up, taking another step towards you that you would have sworn he didn't have room for, so that every inch of you is molded to every bit of him, one arm reaching around your waist, beneath his jacket, to lift you, so that you have to lean on him, stifling your protests about being too heavy for him to do this with his lips pressed gently but firmly down onto yours. His kiss is, at once, both achingly tender and wonderfully dominant as he slants his mouth across yours. His other hand comes up to bury itself in your carefully coiffed hair to hold you still as his tongue duels and parries its way into your mouth, with absolutely no doubt as to who is the victor.

When - long, steamy moments later - he finally sets you back on your feet, keeping his arm around you until he can see that you're steady, you can't look up at him, staring, instead, at his long, narrow feet, which are encased in what looked like very expensive leather shoes.

And then you notice that your hair is falling in unkempt hunks around your face and your hand immediately finds it, trying tot stuff it back in place with no success at all.

"Oh, fuck, my hair! Do you know how long it took for the stylist to wrestle it into some semblance of order?"

"Shhh," he croons. "You need not worry about such a thing this evening." And with a wave of his hand, those errant strands disappear, and you reach up to pat your hair, not quite trusting that it's back to rights, so he hands you a mirror that appears in his hand, chuckling at your skepticism.

When you can see that it's exactly as the hairdresser left it, you murmur, "Sorry."

"Don't be. Are you feeling like you wish to go to this event, or would you prefer that we spend the evening alone together?"

You were completely overwhelmed by his latter suggestion, and, in a way, you desperately wanted to say yes to it, but then you knew you'd disappoint Tony if you did - he had his heart set in a big way on you going, for some strange reason.

So you peep up at Loki, who is standing there looking down at you, much too close to you for your comfort, and say, "I think that if I don't go, Tony will have a stroke -"

"All the more reason to stay here . . ." he interjects.

"Loki," you try to scold, "I know you don't like him, but he's a good friend of mine and he's been wonderful to me, so . . . I guess that's my answer."

You are surprised - and thrilled - to see a momentary flash of something akin to jealousy on his face, but it's gone before you know whether it was ever really there, and he's capturing your hand again and as you begin to walk beside him on his arm, you find yourselves at the doors to the enormous hall in which the gala is taking place.

Just before you enter, Loki turns to you and repeats his offer. "Any time you want me to rescue you, I am at your service, my lady, but I also want you to remember that you're here because of who you are and how much these people respect and love you - for more than just the job you do, but for the person that you are. That you deserve to be so honored is one of the few things that Mr Stark and I agree on."

Blushing furiously at his compliments, you allow Loki to lead you to the table at which he was to be seated. There wasn't a chair for you, because you were supposed to sit at Tony's table, but one appears out of thin air, and he holds it out for you like an old fashioned gentleman. It doesn't seem as if he's interested in giving you up any time soon and you don't wish to cause a scene - at least, that's what you keep telling yourself - so you sit.

The reality is that you're not much interested in giving this seat up to go sit next to Frank from Particle Engineering, even if it did mean a seat at the head table. Loki has moved his own chair so that it's angled almost parallel to yours, his warm, long thigh pressed tight against yours - although the table has plenty of room - and his arm rests casually along the back of your chair. You're practically in his lap, and sometimes you can feel him playing with the loose strands of hair at your nape, which makes you shiver - and your nipples peak impudently. 

And then, as Tony takes the stage, he reaches over and takes your hand - not even beneath the table - weaves his fingers into yours and rests your interlaced hands on his lap.

On. His. Lap.

Kind of on his right hip, sort of, at the top of his thigh.

Your nerves are shredded and your panties are getting wetter by the minute, especially when you allow your eyes to flit down - just once - to that highly improper area you know you shouldn't be checking out but that's entirely too near your hand, only to encounter very blatant evidence that he's not unaffected, either.

Dinner is excellent, although you didn't taste one mouthful of it. Loki ate like he'd never eaten before, while watching you pick at your food.

"Are you not hungry, beauty?" he asks solicitously at one point.

Ignoring the complimentary endearment, you shake your head. "I'm really not. Nerves, I guess." You give a bit of a chuckle. "But it's not like I couldn't stand to not eat about seven thousand meals -"

"Stop that at once."

His tone - a much harsher and harder one than he had ever used with you and the exact opposite of how he had spoken to you tonight - prompts you to find his eyes, and what you see there makes you wish you hadn't tried to be funny at your own expense in front of him, as he clearly didn't appreciate it.

As the dinner dishes are being cleared away, you find your hand in his again, although not for long because the ceremony is about to start as Tony takes the stage with his usual outrageous flair. He's always at his best when he's entertaining a crowd.

Everyone is laughing and clapping at his quick-witted quips - except for Loki, who remains completely silent and still as a statue - except his fingers, which are stroking yours gently.

There are some serious awards and some joke awards - but all of the recipients receive a very generous bonus check, as well as little statuette of Tony with his mouth open, a wild expression on his face, and both middle fingers up. Tony even gets a gift from his team - a beautifully framed landscape photo of all of them - dressed in full, proper business attire - as they never were - all with crazy expressions on their faces, each of their middle fingers up, too. 

But then it's time to give out the final and highest award, and you still have no idea that you're the recipient. He keeps his speech about all you've done in gender neutral generalities at first, then it gradually becomes more and more detailed, saying that the reason most of the projects that his company has completed in the past year was because of this person's unfailing dedication to the projects and the team itself, until, finally, he ends by complaining about how fucking hard it was for him to get her - you - to even agree to come to this event, although he confesses that it might have been easier if he'd told you beforehand that you were going to be the guest of honor.

Tony grins down at you from the podium. "But then again, maybe not . . . "

You can't believe what he's saying, your hand covers your mouth in disbelief as he introduces you, and you receive a standing ovation from everyone in the hall, including Loki, who is beaming down at you as he claps more enthusiastically than anyone else.

You're frozen - terrified - and amazed and grateful for the recognition of your efforts, but you don't think you can get up, much less make it to the dais.

Loki recognizes your distress and offers his hand to help you up, but he doesn't stop there. He then kisses you gently then hugs you, whispering, "For what it's worth, I am very proud of you, and even prouder still to be here with you," before he escorts you through the maze of tables, with people stopping you every few steps to hug and or kiss you or just high five you on the way by, but Loki always reclaims you afterwards, until you finally make it to stand next to Tony, with Loki right at your side.

Tony gives you your statue of him, along with a check for a truly enormous amount of money. Then, ignoring Loki's outraged glare, he takes you into his arms and plants one on you, which has everyone hooting and hollering and catcalling, even Pepper.

When he finally lets you go, Loki looks as if he's going to kill Tony with his bare hands, but you look as if you're about to faint, and his attention is immediately diverted to you as the crowd begins to chant for you to make a speech.

You're standing in front of the mike and you have no idea what to say, and you cover it and say exactly that to Loki in a pleading tone of voice. He is to one side of you, a bit away from you, not wanting to steal any attention from you at all, but he comes to stand very close beside you, whispering, "Just speak from your heart, gorgeous, and you can't go wrong."

With that, he remains right where he is and you can feel him place his big hand at the small of your back, and somehow that calms you when nothing else could. You feel as if he's imbued you with a jolt of his own confidence, and, although your speech is short, it's eloquent and heartfelt, too.

And when it's done, there is thunderous applause as well as another ovation, and you turn to Loki, hoping he'll escort you back to your seat the way he did when he brought you up there, but that's not all he's going to do.

You suddenly find a hand along either side of your face, cupping it tenderly, as he kisses you with all of the emotion and true passion that Tony's was distinctly missing. You don't notice it until he steps a little away, but the hall becomes quiet, except for the occasional "Awwww," or audible sigh from the female half of the audience.

Then he gathers your award and the check into one hand, grabs you tightly to his side, and, in the blink of an eye you are no longer where you were, but rather back on the observation deck.

Alone, where he immediately doffs his coat and puts it around your shoulders, lest you become cold again, then takes you back into his arms, saying, "I did not think you would appreciate having to make your way back through the crowd, however adoring."

How had he known that about you? He was absolutely right. You were much more comfortable working in the background, behind the scenes. You hated to be the center of attention like that.

And you were finding that being the center of his attention was an uneasy thing, too, as much as you thought you craved just that.

The reality of just being in his presence like this - which you would have scoffed at before but now knowing - or rather suspecting - that he might also have feelings for you, too - put you on edge in a way you'd never been before. 

To have the rapt attention of a God was quite a heady experience, you were finding.

He notices that you're still shaking, despite his coat, and murmurs solicitously, "You're cold. Would you prefer to go somewhere else?"

You put your hand on his chest, feeling his warmth through the fine lawn of his shirt, then somehow find a bit of bravery you wouldn't have said you owned and looked up at him. "No, it's not that I'm cold. I'm really not . . ."

His arms contract around you, and now you're shivering and a little breathless. But he's giving you a worried look. "Have I done something to make you afraid of me, little one? That was certainly not my intent . . . "

You love that endearment, although that ever present negative voice in the back of your head is snorting at the idea that anyone could think of you as "little". But considering how he'd reacted to your remark at dinner, you didn't say anything.

"No, Loki, I'm not afraid of you." You want to squirm in his arms but he's holding you too tightly for that. But you don't want him thinking you fear him, because you don't.

"Then what -" he asks, bringing your chin up so that you're not speaking to a spot somewhere south of the knot in his tie, but rather looking into those fathomless green eyes of his, " - could possibly be making you tremble so -" he begins to lower his mouth to yours, so that his last words were spoken against your lips, "- I wonder?"

With his kiss, you lose the last traces of air in your lungs, puffed out on a moan you couldn't suppress, perilously close to fainting as his hands on you under his coat crush you to him, your mouth opening automatically beneath his as his lips and tongue stake their primitive claims on you.

When you can't hold your breath any longer, you press your palms against his chest and push. He relents with severe reluctance, releasing you from his kiss but not his hold. You can't help but rest your cheek against his chest as you try to find some sort of equilibrium, but you doubt that was even possible for you around him.

One thing was floating around your head, something you wanted to remember to say to him. This might not be the most opportune time, but you know it needs to be said before he kisses you again and you lose your head entirely.

"I - I wanted to thank you for being so nice to me this evening, Loki. You've been so kind, so gentlemanly -"

"Neither words you would expect to use in reference to me," he smiles wryly.

But you take a page from his book and chide him for putting himself down.

"Stop that at once." Your tone can't help to match the power and potency of his, but you do your best to mimic him.

He looks amazed at you for attempting to do so, surprised at your vehemence but pleased at the same time, a small smile playing about his lips.

"You are right, my lovely, as usual, and you are very, very welcome. I was very proud and happy to have such a beautiful woman as you on my arm all evening. Might I hope that you may allow me to escort you more often?"

You aren't used to such formal speech. "Are you saying you want us to . . . date?"

"Is that the Midgardian word for courtship?"

"Well, it means we would go out together - to movies or dinner or whatever strikes our fancy - and get to know each other better."

His mouth is suddenly at your ear as he growls, setting you to trembling again, "Does that mean I can have you? And that Mr. Stark must keep his grabby hands to himself?"

You can barely think, but manage to say, "Well, most couples aren't usually exclusive from the start," deliberately avoiding addressing the question of sex, which you thing he might have meant when he'd said, "have you", but you're certainly not going to assume it. 

His hand splays over your bottom as he uses it to press you up against him and what you can tell is the very obvious evidence of his interest in you that seems much larger than the coy glimpse you'd stolen at dinner hinted at. 

"We shall be."


End file.
